


room for you

by savemeaplate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Come Sharing, Come Shot, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Engineer Shiro, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Keith builds motorcycles like a badass, Keith is from oklahoma, Kissing, Lance is an Insta model, M/M, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Spitroasting, Teeny bit of angst, Threesome - M/M/M, and he gets fucking WRECKED, curly haired lance!, hunk and ryan are keith’s brothers, i mention two of lance’s sisters roni and marisela, kiwi lube!, lance gets groped in public, lance has a belly button piercing, lance in different outfits, lance is vv pretty, lots of florida references lmao, tw for sexual harrassment, we in florida baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savemeaplate/pseuds/savemeaplate
Summary: When Keith moves down to Florida to start building custom motorcycles, Shiro and Lance are two of the first friends he makes. They're sweet and funny and thoughtful....And really fucking hot.-A Shklance modern AU
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 534
Collections: Moonlight and Cats





	room for you

**Author's Note:**

> i will literally never grow out of this otp
> 
> come fuck around with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/guardameunplato)!

Keith would run out into Miami traffic at rush hour if he could. Just strap on some New Balances and jog straight into a South Beach intersection, let the Range Rovers have him. Or maybe he’ll just swim out into the ocean for as long as he can and stop wherever he winds up, close his eyes and wait to sink to the bottom. Because it’s gotta be better, and he means _anything_ has _got to be_ better than having Lance stick his phone in his face, screen on full brightness, with an absurdly well-lit mirror pic of his round, gorgeous, fa— (Keith’s gonna stop there because he can’t finish the thought, he just can’t)... ahem, ass in neon yellow compression Nike shorts. 

Keith doesn’t look at the screen for long, tilts his head down to take a bite of his sandwich as soon as he figures out what Lance is trying to show him. But from what he does see the shorts barely reach mid-thigh on Lance’s long, toned legs. He’s in one of those obvious thirst-trap poses, back facing the mirror with his head turned to the side to keep his face in frame, one leg propped and balanced on the ball of that foot to make sure his already-perky ass sticks out juuuuust that little bit more. He’s wearing a shirt in the photo but he’s pulled it up some, probably so it won’t get in the way. And the way that deep brown skin just made the color pop… Keith couldn’t ignore that, even if he was able to, by some miracle of will, ignore everything else.

Lance does shit like this, posts these photos that make you want him, if you’re into guys, and make you wonder about him anyway, if you aren’t. And he’s pretty popular too. Sometimes when Keith hops onto his socials (it doesn’t happen often, but hey even fixing motorcycles gets boring if you do it for a long enough time), he’ll spot one of Lance’s pictures on the main explore page, the one where every other post is a sponsorship and people are grinning big at their phone cameras with smiles so white you could probably use them to burn ants through a magnifying glass. 

Keith didn’t really care for those pics, but he never logged on for them anyway.

When he logged on it was usually him caving, him giving in to his own thirst. He went straight to Lance’s page every time. And he’s not a creep! It’s not like he’s ever, like, _touched himself_ to Lance’s pictures or anything. He’s just so, so pretty to look at. And Keith is so, so gay. 

And one of Keith’s biggest problems is that he’s even prettier in person. Keith looks up at him when Lance starts wagging his phone in his face so hard that he can’t ignore it. The bottom lip of his lovely red mouth is jutted out in a pout, and some of his thick, curly brown hair is falling into his big blue eyes. And he has these cute little beauty marks all over the place. One on his upper lip, right above the corner of his mouth, one right under his right eye. Another one on the point of his chin. 

“Keeeeith,” he groans, “You’re not even looking at it! At least look at it. I need a second opinion! Shiro’s always too nice.”

Shiro looks at Lance with a little smile on his face, endeared as hell. Shiro’s looking up from his own phone finally, apparently done texting a local exterminator about the fire ant infestation at their place.

Aaaand so here’s Keith’s Biggest Problem, in the Case of Lance. He’s with Shiro, one of Keith’s closest friends. Like shares an apartment in Wynwood type of _with_ , like Lance has answered the door to their place wearing one of Shiro’s shirts and nothing else type of _with_. 

Shit is complicated enough with Lance being as pretty as he is, but Shiro’s fine as hell too and Keith, because his brain has apparently picked up a thirty year mortgage in his dick, is into it. Very into it. He’s big, taller than Keith. One of those guys you’d assume would bring a tent to camp out at the gym if they could, stake out the weights overnight. Thick arms, strong-ass jawline. Lance once said, while they were walking back to their cars after checking out this El Salvadoran place together, that Shiro “looks like an asshole but his puppy dog eyes are his saving grace.” Shiro mocked offense, pulled Lance into his chest with an arm around his waist and nipped at his ear until Lance was giggling and shoving him away.

Seeing them like that... it made Keith feel like his bones were water-damaged and that he’d crumple miserable the longer he watched them. But it also made his face hot. That’s how he always knew he was blushing. Two years in Florida and he was still just as pale as he’d been when he’d first gotten here. For fuck’s sake. 

So now here Keith is, sitting across from the both of them like a goddamn fool.

“Sooo?” Lance prompts, waving the phone in his face again. 

“ ‘S good,” Keith finally says, squints at the pic a little, “I like the… baby palm tree? In the background.”

“Really?! You don’t think it makes me look like a basic Florida hoe?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You _are_ a basic Florida hoe, Lance. You have an orange-tree rib tattoo.”

Shiro snickers. 

“Keith, I love you so I’m sorry about it, but there’s no way I can take anything you say seriously with the Texas accent.”

“For the last time Lance, I’m from Oklahoma!”

Lance shrugs. “Just sounds like North Texas to me.”

Shiro chimes in. “Aw, your geography’s getting better.”

Lance hits his arm. Keith has no idea how he’s not wincing right now. Shiro’s built like a steel security door.

“It’s _always_ been this good. I could be a cartographer with a fat ass if I really wanted to, like if cartographers were still a thing and I wasn’t too fine to work.”

Shiro raises an amused brow. “Lance, when I told you that the Parthenon was in Greece you said ‘which part of the movie’?”

“Well, you suck at math!” Lance points out.

Keith looks at Shiro, surprised. “You suck at math? But you’re an engineer?”

Shiro blushes, sheepish. “That’s mostly physics.”

Keith feels himself smiling. “Which is just aggressive math, like math with rabies.”

Shiro pouts. Holy shit, how is someone that huge allowed to look _that_ fucking cute.

“Well _I_ don’t see it like that. Physics is way easier than pure math.”

Lance groans. “Shiro _please_ , we’re in public! Someone might hear you being a huge nerd and tie you back to me.”

Shiro grumbles as he takes a sip of his drink, spots something on Lance’s wrist that seemingly gives him pause. He takes Lance’s hand and brings the watch he wears closer to his face, and even Keith has to admit it’s a damn precious moment, Shiro holding on to Lance’s arm like it’s second nature. 

“Babe didn’t you have to be at the salon like thirty minutes ago? Your practical’s in a couple of weeks, right?”

Lance waves his other hand, dismissive. “Pfft, that’s on esthetics and, uh, have you _seen_ my skin Shiro? I could ace that shit with my eyes closed behind my back.”

Shiro squints, and Lance slaps a hand over his mouth before he can say anything. 

“You know what I mean!”

Shiro pries Lance’s hand away from his face, makes it look so easy. Pins Lance’s wrists against each other so he’s grasping them in a single hold, and Keith _forces_ himself not to blush. While Lance is pouting and spluttering and complaining, Shiro grabs their trash and starts to drag his boyfriend away from the table.

“You can play with Keith later, Lance.” _Cool it, Keith, cool it, Keith, cool it…_ Shiro pauses to throw him a gentle smile, and there’s some breath in Keith’s chest that whirls around and around itself till it feels like a tornado’s about to touch down in his stomach.

“Bye Keith!” Lance shouts, scaring the shit out of a middle-aged couple near the entrance. Shiro’s gotten an arm around his waist now, hauls him away as he begs Keith to,

“Remember me better!”

Florida wasn’t his first choice. Shit, it didn’t even crack the top five. He was tired of the heat, the way it dribbled into everything, people and dogs and cars and houses, and hardened over till it slowed all of it down.

He’d never met his birth parents but he’d never been in foster care. His mom Angie told him all about it when he was around fifteen, when he’d pushed and her kindness made her buckle. How he’d been adopted as a baby by this white family in Montana, then rehomed when he was three. Like they’d gotten tired of him. He still remembered a little bit of his time in Montana, very little. Flashes of a cream-white two story house and a huge pear-green backyard would tumble towards him and catch him at the softest skin of his throat, cold drafts he couldn’t shut a single door against. 

He didn’t talk to his parents or his siblings for four days after he found out about that. Honestly, it’s not like he talks much in general. But that quiet was different, thicker. It grew arms and legs and beat him to every single room in his house. He always expected the members of his family to leave the space when he came in, in those days, but they never did. 

Plenty of people outside of his parents and his brothers Hunk and Ryan just kind of assumed that he was a naturally angry person. But Keith knows himself. There’s grades to the anger, you know? Like when you’re walking up a flight of stairs and everything looks a little bit different with every step you take, smaller as you get further away from it or bigger as you get closer. Not worse or better, just… different. Smaller, bigger.

Keith got angry sometimes when people at school would try to talk to him. But it was never because he was annoyed by them (well, most of the time; come on, he’s never met a lacrosse player he _didn’t_ want to punch in the face). It was an internal anger, gut-deep—he was mad at himself. Being around people’s always been draining. It’s hard to figure out what they want, what they mean, what _he_ should say. His frustration used to loosen and bleed into anger instead. Anger’s big, hot, easy to find. Like if you turned off all the kitchen lights but left the gas stove on burning blue. 

And he was lucky. His parents could afford therapy, so he got to work through it. He had two older brothers who loved him. He learned how to deal with it, how to be patient with himself. 

But he still hated Oklahoma.

There used to be this motorcycle bar right next to the movie theater Keith and his brothers loved. Hunk and Ryan used to always complain about all the noise the bikes made, but Keith liked it. The bikes were so loud, with fits and starts and stutters, that it almost sounded like they were talking. Except with none of the usual social expectations Keith found came with people. 

Then, he and his brothers were leaving the theater on a Thursday afternoon after Ryan dragged them to see Avatar and the bar across the street was packed. Bikes as far as Keith could see. He’d crossed the street, ducked out of both Hunk and Ryan’s holds as they tried to literally pile onto him to get him to stay. But he made it to the bar parking lot. Walked right up to this _huge_ dude with a long white braid and an eyebrow piercing, where he was leaning against this big black bike that came up to the middle of Keith’s stomach. Keith looked him right in the eye and said,

“I want to learn more about motorcycles. Can you teach me?”

Keith laughs now as he remembers it. When he’d glanced over his shoulder to his brothers across the street, Hunk and Ryan had looked like they fully expected the guy to pick Keith up, whip him around his head like a dish towel and send him torpedo-ing back towards the theater. But he didn’t. 

Kolivan gave Keith a spot at his bike repair shop, as an assistant.

He was really just taking appointments and observing restorations at that point, but Keith could _not_ have been happier. 

By the time he was nineteen, some three years later, Kolivan had gotten him an interview with this huge Harley repair shop in Texas, and he’d have _walked_ to Dallas if he could (okay so Lance was _kind_ of right about the Texas thing, whatever). His parents had wanted him to go to college, and he easily could’ve. Had gotten into all the state schools he’d applied to and even some big names in the Northeast, but he didn’t want any of that. Like at all. It had taken some convincing, but his parents let him go. 

He was in Dallas for three years, fixing bikes and smoking weed and maybekindofsortof fucking everything that had a dick and moved (hey, he got the college experience anyway, see?), and it was… honestly, it was pretty great. His boss Allura saw how much he loved working with and building custom Chopper bikes, in particular. “You look like you’re about to ask it to fuck,” she’d told him. She’d pulled a few strings with a friend in Miami, Pidge, who owned a shop that specializes in custom-bike building for these crazy-rich motorcycle enthusiasts, and Keith was off again. 

The first check Keith got from Let’s Ride LLC had him fanning himself like a church lady. 

He’d met Shiro a year into living in Miami, when he, as a long-time friend of Pidge’s, came in to offer his advice on a Vintage piece, this gorgeous red Norton with an original 1920s engine. And Keith was immediately gone off the stark white hair, the sharp ass jawline, holy shit. Usually Keith went after guys as big as Shiro precisely _because_ he wanted them to be rough with him, loved the hard, hot look in their eyes when they realized exactly what Keith wanted. But Shiro managed to take him apart with the kindest eyes Keith’s ever seen. Keith probably would’ve written his number on the back of a business card or something and handed it to him with a grin (yeah, he’s totally _not_ above that; interacting with people in the context of sex is easier; he knows that every action taken is towards a single, definitive, toe-curling result). But then Lance had come bounding into the shop, adorably irritated at how Shiro had apparently lied about how long this would take, and Keith realized that Shiro came with a partner. 

A gorgeous partner with the most striking blue eyes Keith had ever seen. And Keith had never really been into pretty boys, could definitely appreciate the aesthetic appeal of a nice face when he saw one but the Little Keith between his legs was never all that inspired by them. They never made him feel like two pieces of flint rock were scraping against each other in the neighborhood of his spine, not like the burly muscly guys could. 

But Lance did that.

Sharp cheekbones, full lips, russet skin that made Keith think of nothing but warmth, of a life spent kicking around in the lap of the sun itself. And he smiled so damn much, Jesus. Keith quickly learned that Lance was, by nature, a pretty vain person, so the grinning probably had at least a _little bit_ to do with him wanting to show off his perfect white teeth. But there was something deeper there too, something genuine. Something pure like water and shiny like copper at the heart of him. Keith’s never seen anything like it. Lance walks into a room and people’s shoulders relax.

Keith was gonna try to back up off of both of them because that was a double-dicked beast he _definitely_ didn’t want to deal with (and _fuck_ okay great, then he was thinking about Lance and Shiro’s dicks, like _together_ ; why was his every Lance-and-Shiro-based train of thought the Horny Express with no emergency breaks?). Shiro still came in sometimes for consultations, was always super sweet to Keith. Asked him how he was doing with those big, earnest doe-eyes, but never pushed Keith for more conversation. He could definitely sense that Keith was keeping his responses clipped and superficial on purpose, though he probably could’ve _never_ imagined why. 

“I wanna fuck you and your gorgeous boyfriend” probably wouldn’t be somebody’s _first_ guess for the question: why does the guy at the motorcycle shop look like I stole something from him and he’s very slowly building up to kicking my ass? 

But Lance wasn’t having any of that at all. Now, Keith and Shiro often get to spend more time together because Lance is usually busy at the salon or his aunt’s restaurant. But Lance was the jumper cable for their threeway friendship. 

He would come into the shop with Shiro and just hang around Keith’s station while Shiro spoke with Pidge. Talked about anything and everything, even got Keith to laugh so hard one time that he almost fucked up a motor realignment for some real estate mogul. Keith didn’t mind.

Keith hadn’t had many connections coming down to South Florida, besides Pidge and a few coworkers he’d struck up acquaintance-ships with. But Lance and Shiro are the ones who filed down the move’s harsher edges—his homesickness (a new thing because he’d been fine in Dallas), the thick heady Florida heat, his neighbors playing Sweet Caroline every fucking chance they got—turned Miami, lead-dense and unyielding in its unfamiliarity, into a softer place. 

They’re good people. 

A few days after Shiro dragged Lance out of _Le Caille’s_ literally kicking and screaming, Keith comes home from a particularly long day when he hears his phone ringing in his bag. He doesn’t usually like to have it on him during the workday so it takes a while for him to find it. His screen’s pulsing with an incoming FaceTime call from Shiro.

He accepts the request and Shiro grins at him, but before he can say anything Lance jumps into the frame, almost too close to the camera for Keith to make out the entirety of his face.

“Keith, it’s an emergency!”

Keith raises a brow. Keith would take that claim seriously if it came from _literally_ anyone else. A few months ago Lance had texted Keith about “an emergency” which _actually_ happened to be him spilling Goya mojo sauce over one of the, like, thirteen fitted white t shirts he owns and needing Keith to swing by the salon, grab the shirt, and bring it to the dry cleaner’s ASAP. Keith told Lance then that he had a lot of “the Boy Who Cried Wolf” energy, to which Lance had simply replied that, “these _are_ all emergencies to me, Keith!” So Keith’s eyes narrow a bit in suspicion as he prompts Lance to continue with a cautious,

“Yeah?”

“The fire ants are kicking us out, Keith.”

Shiro puts a hand on Lance’s forehead to push him out of frame, and Keith laughs at the yelp the boy lets out. Hears Lance squeak out something that sounds a lot like, “not so rough babe, we still have our clothes on!” Keith chooses to ignore it. 

Shiro’s still trying to reel in a flailing Lance, who doesn’t seem to be giving up on grabbing the phone anytime soon, as he, in an impressively calm voice, says to Keith,

“The exterminator did a survey of the place today and the fire ant thing is way worse than we originally thought. Apparently we’re gonna have to leave for a few weeks while they fumigate the place.”

Keith’s brows raise in surprise. “Shit.”

Lance finally gets a hold of the phone, and their room is a pixelated blur as Lance fights to hold on to it. He settles in Shiro’s lap, head blocking Shiro’s face on purpose. But he sounds steady, maybe even a little… sheepish?... when he says,

“We _would_ stay with my family but my aunt’s visiting from Santiago with her kids. We can’t sleep on the living room floor because Shiro has the back of an old man.”

“Hey!”

“So… we were wondering if we could crash at your place for the three weeks? We promise we’ll stay out of your way, you won’t even notice we’re there—”

“Yes,” Keith says, before his brain has a chance to catch up with him. The more logical part of him is like _what the_ fuck _do you mean “yes?”_

Lance smiles so big at him his eyes close a little bit with it. Christ.

“Yay!”

“How soon do you guys need to be out?”

Shiro manages to get the phone back, wraps his arm around Lance so it pins the man’s own arms to his sides, completely immobilizes him. 

“We can be packed and ready to go in a few hours.”

“Maybe _you_ can,” Lance grumbles.

Shiro ignores it. “We’ll be by soon.” He smiles and the scar across his nose crinkles with it. Keith gulps. “Thanks Keith.”

They’re true to their word. 

Some two hours later there’s a knock at Keith’s door, and he opens it to find Shiro out in the hallway with a single suitcase. Lance, on the other hand?

“Can you help me with this shit, He-Man?” Lance grunts, tugging one of those big suitcases you only ever see people whip out for international flights. He’s got a bright blue duffle bag slung over one shoulder, and Keith can see the straps of a backpack digging into his shoulders.

“Lance you _cannot_ keep calling me that in public,” Shiro grumbles, but he’s taking Lance’s suitcase and duffle bag from him anyway. 

Keith moves out of the way to let them in, shows them to the extra room he has. Keith _was_ just gonna shower, collapse into bed, and then wake up at like one in the morning to shake apart his cabinets and freezer for some Cheez-Its and Hot Pockets (cooking is exhausting, okay?), but Shiro and Lance pull him into a substantive dinner. Lance hauls stuff from Keith’s fridge like it’s a clown car, full-bodied grown-up foods staring up at Keith from his kitchen island, and Keith’s kind of dazed. It raises so many questions for him: Like when did he buy green onions and why did he ever think he knew what the hell to do with a green onion? And why did he buy a classical fridge with a top freezer because just _look_ at how far down Lance has to bend at the waist. Okay now _stop_ looking, you shameless perv.

Lance makes a stir-fry from the food he finds, totally judges Keith the whole way through. 

“Jesus, Keith. It’s like a sad frat boy went food shopping with his eyes closed.”

“You could’ve just disrespected me through the door, Lance, you didn’t have to come all the way to my kitchen.” Shiro laughs.

“Babe, you _know_ that’s not fair,” Shiro leans against the island, biceps flexing as he folds his arms across his chest, “didn’t you know how to use a paring knife by the time you were like six?”

“Yes... but that's besides the point!—Keith do you have oil anywhere?”

“Um… cabinet under the sink?”

Lance looks up at him in horror. “Why do you sound unsure?! Keith, I’m gonna need you to be real straight with me, straighter than you’ve ever had to be in your life—”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Lance—”

“Does it just feel like Sprite coming out when you piss?”

“I drink water Lance!”

“All right! Just the rickety bones then.”

“Lance, lay off,” Shiro says, “they’d be more, like, those popsicle sticks that crack if you leave them out in the sun too long.”

Lance laughs so hard he almost drops the carton of eggs he’s holding. 

Keith looks at Shiro in betrayal. “I feel like you’re always meaner to me when Lance is around.”

“Nooo,” Lance protests, “I just bring out his best jokes. I’m like a stimulant or whatever, like the LSD of people.”

Keith thinks. “That’s… oddly accurate.”

Lance shrugs with a happy hum.

The food’s almost finished, Keith scrolling through his phone absolutely useless on his couch because Lance beats him out of the kitchen with a big metal cooking spoon everytime he tries to help, when Shiro comes into the living room to tell him,

“We need you to settle something.”

When Keith looks up, Shiro’s holding a spoon sample of what looks like the stir-fry.

“Lance thinks this is gonna be too spicy for you, could you try this out so he can flip off his Mama Bear switch?”

Lance pops up over Shiro’s shoulder like he’s been summoned. 

“Roni and Marisela always said I was heavy-handed as hell with the pepper. They call me the dragon-maker, Keith! Almost killed Shiro the first time I cooked for him. I was like two coughs away from dialling poison control.”

“I think we’re stronger as a couple for it.”

Keith rolls his eyes but sits up. Before he can reach out for the spoon, Shiro’s leaning forward with it, till the tip’s barely grazing his lips. Shiro looks down at him expectantly while Lance watches in anticipation, like this isn’t weird at all. Keith opens his mouth while he tries to will his blush away, while Shiro slips the spoonful past his teeth. Keith tries to look anywhere that isn’t Shiro’s big hand, centimeters from his face. 

Keith’s eyes widen. “Holy shit that’s delicious.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t feel like you’re swallowing a lit match?”

“Not at all, Mama Bear.” Lance flushes red, and it’s so unexpected Keith’s not sure what to do with it, tries to fit it into his mental space longways then sideways like he’s moving a couch through a door. 

Those first few days with Lance and Shiro Three’s Companying it up with him, Keith’s anxious horny thoughts don’t really leave room for much else. They run from floor to ceiling like stone pillars all over his apartment till Keith can’t see Lance in his sleep shorts or—oh unjust God—Shiro’s shirtless chest damp with water from his shower, without feeling thirteen shades of hot plus bothered. 

But once he reels in the urge to sprint at Shirtless Shiro or Leggy Lance dick-first like some Greek satyr with no boundaries, he starts to realize something else. Through his walls he can hear Lance laughing at _Parks and Rec_ or singing along to Celia Cruz while cooking or talking his niece through opening the cash register at his aunt’s restaurant over the phone. He can play _Diablo III_ with Shiro on the weekends, wake up early to go jogging with him on the weekdays while Lance sometimes rises to watch them leave, burrito-wrapped in a thick blanket as he leans against his door-frame with a tired smile, curls an adorably messy tumble over his forehead. Learns that Lance did gymnastics for fourteen years and is pretty much a yoga master (he learns that second part from Shiro while they talked the whole way through that Fast & the Furious movie where Vin Diesel catches a car. Yeah, that shit deserves to be ignored. Lance looks away from the both of them, half-embarrassed, even a little… shy maybe? It’s cute as hell on him). For the first time in five years, since he’d left Oklahoma, Keith lives in a full house, loud and warm with other people. People he cares about. 

So he’s not, like, _actively_ seeking out Lance’s pics (he never was!), feels like it would be two steps down from disrespect with the boy in question _and_ the boy in question’s boyfriend under Keith’s roof? But there’s always one element in Keith’s commitment to that particular brand of abstinence that he keeps forgetting about, one confounding variable, one left-field toss he keeps missing.

Lance himself.

Whenever Lance takes a new pic he sends it to the group-chat he has with Keith and Shiro, wants to know what they think. When Keith doesn’t respond fast enough (and let’s face it, it’s often; Keith knows himself), Lance just sends it to him directly.

About a week and a half into their new arrangement Keith’s walking up the stairs to the apartment, idly checking his phone for messages he’d missed while he was at work, and one such Lance McClain-Pérez exclusive is at the top of the queue. He opens it, unthinking, and almost careens over the stair railing, barely catches himself with a hand on the wall before gravity makes him its bitch. 

In the pic Lance sent him, the boy himself is sitting on the ledge of something—looks like one of those elevated garden spaces colleges use for the front page of their brochures—leaning back on his hands with his legs splayed wide, a cocky, confident smirk on his face. He’s in tight acid-washed blue jeans that wrap around his thick thighs so snugly they almost look airbrushed on. He’s in a white crop top, too, barely a shirt; it stops right under his pecs. You’d probably be able to see his nipples if he stretched. Keith swallows at the amount of skin Lance is showing, at the bully button ring… Keith’s eyes widen. Oh _fuck_ . Lance _has a silver belly-button ring_ , a dangly one that ends in a shining crescent moon just a couple inches above the waistband of his jeans. And… holy shit. Keith can feel his face getting hotter because holy shit, there’s a thong peaking out of Lance’s pants, twin dark straps stretching across Lance’s hips in an inviting little V. Upon, ahem, _closer_ inspection, Keith can tell that it’s actually a deep purple. And is there any goddamn color Lance _can’t_ rock—

“Told him you’d like it.”

Keith almost shoots through the three floors above him like a goddamn torpedo. Shiro’s standing next to him, close enough to see his phone. Grinning sweet and easy like he always does with Keith but… you know, Keith could be imagining it but Shiro’s smile almost looks sharper? Like some kind of sexy shark or something. He looks so fucking self-assured that it takes Keith a full thirty seconds to shut off his phone screen.

Shiro’s looking down at him— _down_ at him!—with dark eyes.

“It’s… it’s a good picture.”

“It sure is,” Shiro agrees, finally looks away and Keith can _breathe_ again. “Don’t be too long. I’m making stuffed mushrooms tonight.”

“ _You_ are?”

Shiro shrugs. “I can throw down too, you know. We can both cook. Double trouble.”

 _No_ Keith. _Do not_ read into that. An image comes into Keith’s mind completely unsolicited (hey look, continuing the trend)—Shiro in a _Kiss the Cook_ apron and nothing else… 

When Shiro’s gone Keith opens up his messages again. Types out a _definitely post this one_ , reads it over, then decides to nix the _definitely_.

Shiro gets called into work that following Sunday, some mechanical design emergency they couldn’t fix without him. Keith wakes up briefly as Shiro’s leaving, can hear him rustling around in the kitchen before he falls asleep again.

The next time Keith wakes up it’s with a weight on his thighs. He sits up and shifts sharply before his eyes are even fully open, hears somebody grunt a _puta madre_ from the ground. When he peers over the edge of the bed he sees,

“Lance? Holy shit, are you okay?”

Lance gives him a weak thumbs up from where he’s laying.

“Goddammit, Wonder Thighs. You almost took me out.”

“Why are you waking people up by jumping on them?”

Lance shrugs as he gets up. “Why’s your first impulse to unknown stimuli to slam it into the ground?”

“Okay, one: you ran into my room and bounce on me like you were jumping from a turnbuckle—

“Nice wrestling reference—” 

“—While I was still asleep and two: I’d rock the shit out of living in the wild if we were still walking around as cavemen.”

“Fair enough. But I think I’d be safe back then too. I have a leg up.”

“Oh?”

“I am certifiably too pretty to die.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Why were you risking a concussion to wake me up Lance?”

Lance looks a little abashed from where he’s sitting, like he’s not sure how Keith will respond to whatever he’s about to ask.

“I need a ride.”

Keith’s surprised that Lance is this nervous to ask him something like that, something Keith would say yes to so easily.

“That all?”

Lance frowns a bit. “You can just say _no_ —”

Oh shit, Keith didn’t mean for it to come out like that. 

“No, I meant… it’s nothing, Lance. It’s… more than okay. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.” Lance smiles at that. Certifiably too pretty indeed.

“Thanks Keith! Usually Shiro drives me around ever since—” Lance cuts himself off at that, and something passes over his face, darkens it like the inside of a car leaving the light of a street lamp at night. It’s gone almost as quick as it came. “But he got called in on Buff Nerd business. I’ll make you your dry granny toast while you get ready!” 

A short while later Keith’s walking out to his car with Lance bounding ahead of him, like some kind of forest sprite or something. “Not a morning person” his ass. And Keith does his level best, tries to channel whatever monks channel to turn celibacy into something that _doesn’t_ make them want to strangle themselves with their robes, to not stare at _Lance’s_ ass. Because to say that it’s a nice one is a tragic understatement. 

Lance wasn’t kidding about the fat ass thing. 

It’s round and bouncy, moves with him when he walks. Lance is in an oversized tee shirt today but he’s wearing short black shorts that almost _disappear_ under the hem of it, brown thighs just shining in the sunlight. Lance looks over his shoulder at him and Keith almost snaps his own neck with how quick he looks away. 

When Keith gets into the driver’s seat Lance is already belted in, looks at him expectantly. 

“What?”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me where we’re going?”

“I figured you’d get around to it.”

Keith starts the car, eases out into the street. 

“I feel like you cycle wildly between trusting me with your life and not trusting me to use your fancy rich bitch blender.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous Lance, I don’t even trust you with _your_ own life. And you put garlic in my blender!” 

“It’s so I can have fresh mixed spices on tap! You can go back to eating bland white people food if you want, I’m not above hurting you like that.” 

It turns out that Lance has to baby-sit his nieces and nephew while his sister goes in to cover somebody else’s shift at the hospital. They stop by the grocery store first for Lance to grab the glazed donuts they like, because he’s adorably sweet like that. 

But it’s not just a straight shot errand with Lance, oooh no. Lance tows Keith through the aisles like Keith’s never been to a Publix before, remembers like eight or nine things he _also_ has to buy. 

By the time they make it out of the store Keith’s weighed down with Lance’s bags (“you almost subjected everybody to Lance-less world this morning, Wonder Thighs. You owe me!”). 

They’re walking past a group of older men, and Keith has noticed them staring at them —Lance in particular—on their way in, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Didn’t quite like the way they leered at Lance’s bare legs, but Lance was dragging him into the store too fast for him to do or say anything. 

Now one of them steps a bit too close to Lance. And even without the staring Keith could tell this dude is an asshole. He has his shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel, and yeah it’s hotter than Satan’s morning breath right now but there’s only so many buttons you can have undone before you’re venturing into ballsack territory. And this guy strikes Keith as _quite_ the ballsack. 

“Está de la clase mangón papí,” the guy says to Lance with a grin. And yeah, Keith’s Spanish is sometimes shaky but he gets the gist of what the man’s saying, especially when he reaches out and smacks Lance’s ass. Keith’s about to drop the bags he’s holding and do something real fucking wild but Lance beats him to it. 

About as quickly as the guy touches his ass, Lance winds back like a tennis player gearing up for a hit and slaps the guy in the face. Grits out through clenched teeth, 

“Vete a la mierda, jamonero,” 

Okay, Keith might be in love. 

The guy’s friends suck in sharp breaths, guffaw, look at Lance like they’re a little bit impressed but a whole lot more amused. 

Keith shifts all the bags to one arm as best as he can, grabs Lance’s bicep and pulls him away before anything else can happen. 

Keith loads the car up with their stuff (well, _Lance’s_ stuff), and they’re off. The group of guys, save the man on the receiving end of Lance’s wicked left hand, whoops as they drive past. Lance sinks further into his seat. Keith’s never seen him so quiet, seen his face so drawn and pinched. 

Lance fiddles with the lever that pushes the passenger seat back, brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. 

Keith doesn’t know what the fuck to say. He’s fuming, so pissed he almost wants to turn the car around and beat that guy over the head with their grocery bags. But he’s proud of Lance in a way that he’s not sure he should be—“hey congrats on having a completely understandable, physical response to being groped in public?” And he’s worried. So damn worried because Lance has never siphoned his noise from the air around them like this, never left behind this dry, fissuring silence. And yeah Keith doesn’t know what the fuck to say but he knows he has to say something. They’re at their third stoplight before Keith opens his mouth to see what might come out. 

“You didn’t have anything to do with that shit. ‘S not your fault.” 

Lance… laughs? It sounds like a laugh, weak and sarcastic. Nothing like what Keith’s heard from him before. 

“I know. It never is. Still feel just as gross though. Just as… nasty.”

Lance stops talking, but Keith gets the sense that it’s a temporary pause, that he’s working up to something. 

“It always just feels like people are laughing at me, trying to fuck me, or trying to ban me from doing shit because I’m the acrylic paint of people and something’s just _wrong_ about me… ‘oh don’t get too close to him, he’ll fuck it up somehow, whatever it is.’ And I thought that that shit would get better with Shiro. And it has! It totally has, Shiro is…” Lance is smiling now, for _real_ now, and Keith gets the sense that he’s getting a peak at the bare, beating heart of their relationship. He feels wholly outside of it but damn if it isn’t a gorgeous thing to watch. “Shiro is amazing. Never had somebody give me the space to grow like that without just leaving altogether. It’s… I feel so goddamn ungrateful because he’s already done _so much_ but I’m—”

And even though he’s stopped talking in the middle of a sentence Keith gets the sense that there’s nothing else coming for now. 

“You’re more than all that shit Lance. You’re not just nice, you’re kind? In that solid, action-based way that nobody can ever write off. And you’re thoughtful—how do you keep remembering I like kiwis that much, I muttered it into the couch shit-faced drunk.” Lance laughs at that. 

Keith’s eyes are on the road now, flicking occasionally to his phone on the dash where Google Maps is open. But he can feel Lance’s gaze on his cheek. His face gets hotter with it, but he keeps talking because he’s not finished yet.

“And it’s okay to feel that way… about Shiro. You love him, I can tell—anybody could tell. You get the sense that he can’t just make _everything_ better. I’m… not sure I’m gonna be able to fully explain this without sounding like an asshole but that’s _good_ Lance. You see what he’s done and you love him for it but you still see all the personal parts you’re gonna have to work on for yourself _by_ yourself… that’s really good.” 

Lance is silent for a while, and Keith’s slipping into that internal place of, “oh shit I fucked it up.” But when Lance speaks again he sounds so much lighter. Keith’s not Mr. Fix-It or anything but Lance sounds like he’s feeling marginally better. 

“Come through Dr. Keith.” Keith doesn’t have to check to know that Lance is grinning. 

Keith scoffs. “Please, I would never do the first name thing. Dr. Phil’s ruined that for everybody.” Lance hums in agreement. 

“Keith I feel like you barely ever tell us stuff about yourself.” 

Keith turns onto the street where Lance’s sister apparently lives. 

“I tell y’all plenty. I’m from Oklahoma, I have two brothers—”

“Come _on_ Keith. That’s all basic stuff! Within the first few hours of meeting me you found out that I’m Afro-Cuban, I’ve broken my collarbone three times, and I almost got kicked out of Catholic school for sucking dick in the corner of the cafeteria during free period—”

Keith almost swerves into a mailbox. “You _what_?” 

Lance makes a “yikes” face as Keith rights the car again. 

“Okay I _maybe_ left that part out— ooo it’s the white house on the left with the wreath on the door! I _keep_ telling Marisela to take that shit down.”

Keith pulls into the driveway behind a shiny black Prius and Lance turns to face him fully.

His big blues eyes are totally earnest as he speaks.

“Look I _definitely_ don’t want to pry but… you can talk to me about stuff. To us.” Keith smiles at him. Lance reaches over to ruffle his hair. “We _live_ together now roomie. Let me work some of my therapy magic on you too, yeah?” 

Keith laughs despite himself. “Yeah.” 

A pretty woman with smooth brown skin and hair curlier than Lance’s steps out of the house in bright green scrubs.

“Get in the house flaco!” She shouts. “You’re already late!”

Lance bolts out of the passenger’s seat with a,

“See ya later Wonder Thighs!”

Keith sticks around just long enough to hear the,

“‘Flaco’ quién?? Do you _see_ this ass Mari!”

It was actually pretty hard for Keith to finally settle on a bike for himself. He fixes them, builds them, watches TV shows about them. Shit, Hunk and Ryan thought he was gonna get beaten like a bowl of raw eggs over them. The thing is, the more he works with bikes the pickier he gets about what makes a _good_ one for him, you know? 

Red took him two years to finish completely. It’s a little bit reckless of him to do Red’s repairs at home, just in the middle of his apartment complex’s parking lot like some one-man tailgate with zero liquor but a whole lot of manual labor. Even though he knows what he’s doing, it’d probably be better practice to carry out these repairs in the shop. But he always loved how stripped down these moments felt—no pretense, freeform—like he could be riding up the Florida turnpike and decide, at any moment, to just pull off the road and fix whatever he needed to fix before he went off again. Something raw, open.

None of that changes the fact that he DYI’s his ass straight into a cut on his palm, courtesy of an old bike chain whose sharpness he’d misjudged. Just a few days after Lance bitch slapped that perv under Keith has his first day off in a while. So _of course_ he spends his day away from working on bikes… working on his own bike. Lance is in class, Shiro at work.

Keith hisses at the cut, rips off the still-clean half of the fraying hand towel he’d been using to polish her frame before he’d realized it had been ages since he’d last checked her chain. He heads inside, thinks he remembers seeing a bottle of peroxide in the bathroom somewhere. He has to put his Handy Manny aspirations on hold for a little while.

After a bit of ruffling through his bathroom cabinets—Jesus Lance had enough shit here for _at least_ five other people’s faces—he finds the brown bottle, daubs off most of the blood with the strip of towel he still has before he wads up some toilet paper, dampens the chunk with the liquid, and brings it to his wound. It stings a little bit, but Keith knows that after a little while it’ll stop—

Aaaand it doesn’t stop stinging. Keith’s confused, turns the bottle around in his good hand to actually _read_ the label and…

What the fuck is a Paula’s Choice Skin Perfecting Toner?

“Goddammit Lance,” Keith groans. 

He hears the door open and close, and for a moment he thinks that he’s managed to summon Lance somehow, like some kind of sexy demon. Keith had gotten them each keys for their stay, completely ignored their protests in that bull-headed way everybody who knows him keeps saying he’s perfected. 

“Keith! You around?” It’s the _other_ sexy demon. “I think I finally figured out how to beat that shit-eating monkey on _Diablo_ —”

Shiro stops at the open bathroom door, takes one look at the bottle in Keith’s hand, and lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Did you just stumble in here and grab the first brown bottle you saw?”

Keith shrugged, a little sheepish.

Shiro walks over, gently takes Keith’s stinging hand in his own, leads him over to the sink. Things have been soft with them, like this—this cheesy sitcom set-up—was what they needed to melt down their lingering tension, stiff and awkward (mostly because of how tongue-tied—tongue fucking _knotted_ really—Keith’s weird, intense, horny feelings left him around Shiro in particular) into something doughy and benign. Something to be noticed, squinted at, but ultimately flicked away like orange juice pulp. Really the only reason why Keith hasn’t been silent as a damn grave around Lance too is because the fucker shoves through quiet like the Kool-Aid man with a power level over 9000. But—Keith’s thinking as Shiro washes his cut, murmurs something about how at least he won’t need stitches, and bandages his hand—that’s not Shiro’s M.O. at all. Shiro waits, like Lance said. And he’s good at it. Patient as any poor soul at a Miami bust stop but always there all the same.

“ _Please_ tell me you weren’t looking for peroxide, Keith. This isn’t the sixties. We don’t wash shit out with acid anymore.”

“It’s always worked before!”

“Dear God.”

“And why does Lance have so much stuff for his face anyway?”

Shiro leans against the counter and purses his lips, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Some of it’s mine.”

Keith rolls his eyes, laughs. “A match made in a Sephora aisle.”

“You’re always free to come with us. We could always find you some eyeliner that reminds you of motor oil or whatever you’re into.”

“I would hit you if it wouldn’t literally shatter the bones in my hand.”

Shiro smirks at him a little bit, like he’s about to test something out.

“Lance manages.”

Keith feels his cheeks get warm but shrugs anyway. “He has practice.”

Keith looks over at the counter again, row upon row of What in the Fuck is This. 

“You curious about the regime, Rough Rider?”

Keith answers a bit too quickly “No.” Shiro raises a brow. “Okay, _yes_.” 

Shiro’s lining stuff up, telling Keith what each thing does while Keith tries to keep it all straight.

“So y’all have the vanity thing in common huh?”

Shiro side-eyes him with a smirk and Keith gulps.

“You have _no_ idea. Lance talked me into putting a mirror on our bedroom ceiling,”

And that… Keith has _no fucking clue_ what to do with that. Like yeah sure, he’s pretty oblivious about a lot of shit but… that was a pass, right?? What the hell does he say to that? He just resorts to his usual tried and true Keith response to shit that straight up does not compute in his head.

He says nothing and moves the fuck on. 

Lance finds them in the bathroom together. Shiro had pushed his hair out of his eyes with one of his headbands, fingers ghosting along Keith’s temples, before he did the same for himself. He’s explaining to Keith why, no, you _can’t_ just mix all the cleansers and toners and moisturizers together and be done when they hear Lance squeal out a noise from the doorway that sounds like a sly-whistle.

“Okay okay, _fine_ ,” Keith huffs, still a bit unconvinced at Shiro’s explanation, “just teach me how to exonerate my face.”

“Exfoliate!”

“You know what I mean!”

“Oh my Goood! Shiro converted you!”

It’s just a few days before Shiro and Lance can officially move back into their apartment. Keith’s at a motorcycle show for networking shit in Coral Gables, and he’d never been one of those people who checked their phone incessantly… until he met Lance and Shiro. He could always be pretty much guaranteed memes, articles, blocks of excited texts from Lance, strings of sarcastic texts from Shiro. 

But today? Nothing.

Keith supposes it’s fine. Lance _does_ have his practical coming up, and Shiro’s place is collaborating on some huge thing with Cape Canaveral (Space Shuttle Central) in North Florida, so it makes sense that they’re busy.

Except when Keith pulls into his parking space back home, Shiro’s Lincoln is still there. Weird. Stereo silence like this usually means that Shiro’s working late.

When he gets into his apartment, he hears… something. Can’t quite place it at first. Is that… giggling? Or… oh. Oh, that’s _got_ to be moaning. Keith feels something sweep over him, like embarrassment or shame. Feels the back of his neck prickle hot with it. Of course. They’re in a relationship, duh. Keith can’t fault them for sneaking in a quick romp when he’s supposedly not there. 

He immediately heads to the bathroom, tries to ignore the sounds. Washes off the sweat and grime of the day, finds fresh clothes from the load in the dryer he’d forgotten to fold. Sure it’s only like 6 p.m. but he’s pretty tired anyway, he tells himself. He’ll just take a quick nap, shove his stupid crushing thoughts under his pillow. Walks into his room and—

And feels heat sinking towards his dick with aaaaall haste. He swallows once, hard, kind of wants to knock his head against the door frame to jolt this hallucination apart before it makes him lose his mind completely. Because he _has_ to be hallucinating.

Cause when he walks into his room— _his room—_ Shiro’s sitting on the edge of his bed with Lance in his lap. Lance is gripping Shiro’s shoulders facing away from Keith, smooth toned back arched like the fucking gymnast he used to be so his plump ass sticks out where it’s perched deliciously tight against Shiro’s bulge. Shiro has his two big hands on his ass, kneading it like it’s his right, like it belongs to him. Keith guesses it kind of does. Lance has his head tucked against Shiro’s shoulder and Shiro’s peering down at him with eyes low-lidded. He’s holding his bottom lip between his teeth, like it’s all he can do not to immediately tear into the pretty thing on top of him. 

And now Keith’s mouth is watering because is that—? Holy shit, Lance is wearing that deep purple thong he’d teased in a photo a while back. The straps cut slightly into the soft meat of his hips. The Y of the underwear vanishes between the two full cheeks, lost to the fat roundness until Shiro (gift that he is) grips Lance’s cheeks and pulls them apart. He releases them, let’s them jiggle on their own before he takes them up again. Keith could watch that shit on loop. That’s when Shiro looks up, looks at _Keith_ like he’s next after Shiro’s eaten Lance right up. 

And holy _shit_ has Shiro done a total 180. Where’s the guy that cried when the Kwik Stop on South Ave went out of business? Where’s the guy who woke up in the middle of the night to fix broken basketball hoops in Hialeah, just because he could?

Cause this guy? This guy looks like he’d sneak up on you in the middle of the day while you’re washing the dishes. Push your face into the wet counter, bend you over to stretch you open while the faucet’s still running and shove his dick up into you while you tried to hold onto the sink’s slippery edge.

Yes, Keith knows it’s a super detailed fantasy. He’s had a lot of time to think okay!

“You’re home,” Shiro says. Follows it up with a smirk. His voice is so deep it’s basically rumbling.

Lance stirs in his arms. Keith watches his back ripple and flex as he turns to look at him.

From what Keith can see his eyes are a little wet already. Cheeks a bit flushed, full red lips even plumper. He’s pouting a little bit, petulant. Keith’s never seen anyone strike a balance between pinch-your-cheeks adorable and fuck-your-brains out sexy so well. Horny, like so many other looks, is an incredible look on Lance. Keith wonders what Shiro’s already done to him, and the feral, dirty thoughts make him harder.

“Keith!” And Lance’s voice is deeper too, but breathier like he’s winded. 

Fucking hell.

“Keith, Shiro’s being a fucking sadist right now,” he complains. Shiro smacks his ass hard, makes it jiggle again, and he yelps. Shiro gives a sexy smirk at the reaction. 

“He knows we had to wait for you to, ah— _fuck,_ get here _, so he—_ “

Shiro’s tracing a finger along Lance’s crack while he pulls a cheek apart. Maybe to give Keith a better view. Shit, _definitely_ to give Keith a better view. Keith can see how the string of the thong stretches across Lance’s tiny furled hole. It looks slick from where Keith is standing.

“You make it too easy baby,” Shiro growls into his ear. He looks up at Keith again and _holy shit_

Keith is way too fucking weak for this, how’s his back this sweaty under his shirt already??

“Keith.” Shiro goes back to holding Lance wide open, separates his cheeks with those _big fucking hands_ till Keith can see, clear as a cloudless day, how that purple string bisects Lance’s little hole. “Don’t you wanna know what we got up to while you were gone? Don’t you wanna feel it for yourself?”

And Keith can’t quite move yet, so all he manages is a mangled up,

“ _Yes,_ ”

Thick through with his horny shock.

“ _Mmm,”_ Shiro hums in acknowledgement. He pulls the string of the thong to the side and brings a finger to Lance’s hole, just to trace the rim. Lance trembles anyway. Then he says, in a deep, quiet voice two beats away from a whisper, like he’s telling Keith a secret,

“It’s the tightest fucking fit.” 

He’s staring down the long line of Lance’s back like he’s lost to memory, even while he’s still right here with them. He flicks his eyes to Keith again. He’s slipping that finger into Lance, slow but steady. Lance is moaning low as Shiro says,

“Never had somebody take it so deep _so good_. He begs me for it, Keith. Wakes me up in the middle of the night. I could use some help with him.”

And Keith honestly can’t believe that he hasn’t moved sooner but that’s what does it. He never would have expected Shiro to be so... fucking filthy. He’s just so sweet, so clingy. He’s Lance’s _puppy_. Keith’s face is neutron star-hot with the 180 switch.

Although… Keith thinks about the smirks Shiro’s given him, the side-long glances… that _fucking spoonful_ of stir fry… yeah okay, maybe Shiro has the capacity for it.

Shiro licks his lips.

Yeah no, _absolutely_ has the capacity for it.

Keith walks over to them, kneels between Shiro’s legs, in front of Lance’s delicious ass. When he reaches a hand out to draw down Lance’s back, he’s scorching to the touch.

“Lance? Talk to me baby.” 

He’s always known, conceptually, that Lance’s skin is soft. Lance would probably have an aneurysm if it was anything else. But feeling it for himself is a different thing entirely. He rubs his thumbs into the dip between his shoulder blades, drags his fingers along the path of his spine, down to the dimples at his back.

“Mmmm what do you want to know, sugar?”

When Keith looks up he’s looking down at him like he’d say anything, _do_ anything, for Keith to keep touching him. It’s a potent fucking feeling. Keith doesn’t know quite where to put it, what he’s gonna loop and cinch it around once this is all done.

That look dredges up something at once mean and tender in him, strings it up the walkways behind his stomach, the ones that curve around his liver, till he’s smirking. Knows, just a liiiiitle cocky, that his smile looks a bit like Shiro’s. Shiro must recognize it at least a little, because from where Keith’s shoulder is pressed up against his inner thigh, Keith can feel his body shaking with a deep laugh.

He straightens up a bit on his knees so he can press a kiss to Lance’s shoulder.

“What did the sadist do to you while y’all waited for me?” 

Keith trails kisses along his back while he waits for Lance to answer. He smiles into the skin when Shiro scoffs above him, offended.

Lance smells phenomenal, like lavender and cucumber and a little bit of sweat. He smells a bit like Shiro too, something heavier and earthier.

“W-when we home he didn’t even wait, _fuck,”_

Keith looks down to find the source of the interruption. Shiro’s moving his finger again. As Keith is watching it disappear into Lance’s pretty hole he adds another, steady and true, and starts to fuck Lance with both. Doesn’t even tease him with it. Lance must’ve been pretty stretched already.

“Keep going, pretty baby,” Keith urges as he brings his kisses to Lance’s other shoulder.

“H-he didn’t even, _mmmnghfuck_ , wait for us to get to your bed!” Keith laughs a little at how endearingly put out Lance sounds about that. “H-he bent me over the back of the... c-couch... got some lube and my thong... he’sfucking _evil,_ ” 

Shiro laughs real dark at that. He speeds up his thrusts just that bit more, and Keith can feel himself leaking in his briefs. He knows it’s getting harder and harder for Lance to speak in coherent sentences but Keith can’t help it. He wants to hear the rest, and he wants to make Lance tell him.

He fakes offense. “On my _couch_ guys? No respect.”

Shiro chuckles. “Don’t worry. I made sure he couldn’t rub up against it _at all_.”

Lance whimpers. From the self-satisfied smirk Shiro’s wearing Keith knows he’s changed the angle of his fingers.

“Then what happened?” Keith wants to know.

“H-he stretched me open on his f-fingers...”

“How many?”

“ _Keeeeith....”_

Keith gives him a light slap on the underside of an ass cheek, right where his butt meets the top of his thigh. Watches it ripple like still water moved by a pebble. Lance moans, pushes his ass back into the thrusts.

“How many Lance?”

“T-two...”

Keith looks down at Shiro’s bulge and bites his lip. It looks thick, and Keith wonders how long it is. Keith can’t say he’s surprised, Shiro _is_ a big guy.

“Just two baby?”

Keith can’t help himself. Licking his lips he brings a thumb to Lance’s rim, traces where Shiro’s thick fingers are stretching him open. They’ve slowed down again. Shiro’s gonna edge this poor thing to hell and back. Keith’s gonna watch the whole thing happen, even help it along, like the fucking bastard he is.

“H-he wanted to keep me as tight as possible... knows how I like it...”

“Thought you were already tight baby?” Keith teases, eyes watering as he watches Shiro pull his fingers almost all the way out, so only the tips stay in, then push all the way back into the last knuckle.

“ _Ohhhfuck_...”

And even as gone as Lance already sounds, he still has enough energy to give a sultry little giggle.

“Oh I _am_ , sugar,” he murmurs, starts rocking back onto Shiro’s fingers. “Shiro almost lost his mind the first time he fucked me. Maybe you’re the same?”

And Keith gulps. Can he handle this? Blindingly sexy Lance, hot as fuck Shiro? Lance has got to be exaggerating right? Only when Keith looks again Shiro’s blushing a bit darker, darker than the flush he’d had before. Shit.

The smirk on Lance’s face is way too smug so the next time Shiro pulls his fingers almost completely free of Lance’s hole, Keith drags his tongue along his rim, presses it up against Shiro’s forefinger. He feels Lance shaking, hears his stunned little _coño_ and starts to actively wonder how many times he’s gonna get to make Lance switch languages tonight.

The lube they used is a little sweet and a little tart with a marked leafy undertone Keith would know anywhere. It’s kiwi. Holy _shit_ , it’s kiwi. They got kiwi fucking lube probably because they remembered it’s his favorite fruit and if _that_ shit doesn’t make his heart throb like his dick right now. He lets out something he feels is a groan, but would probably sound like a whimper to anyone else.

He’s licking Lance’s rim slow, getting him to moan all sweet for him. Shiro’s stopped thrusting his fingers but he’s stretching them apart now. Lance is squirming in his hold,

“T-Takashi...”

And _fuck_ Lance takes it so good. 

Keith has A Thought. He worms his tongue between Shiro’s fingers where they’re pulling apart to hold Lance open, licks out as much of Lance’s walls as he can with Shiro’s thick digits still in the picture ( _fuck_ he’s hot as an oven inside and Keith can still taste the kiwi lube), and Lance whimpers, folds loose against Shiro like Keith’s sucking out all his strength through his pretty little hole. Good. Very fucking good.

One particularly rough swipe of Keith’s tongue drags it along the entirety of one of Shiro’s fingers, all the way down to where his palm meets his knuckle.

“ _Fuck_ baby,” Shiro growls.

Keith makes the mistake (or maybe the brilliant freaking decision) to look up then. Shiro’s watching him over Lance’s shoulder like he wants to devour him. Holding his gaze, Keith does it again, in reverse. Follows the line of Shiro’s finger from his last knuckle with his tongue, all the way back into Lance’s delectable wet hole. He makes them moan in tandem and you could fucking _bury_ him with that sound. Stick him in a room alone with it and leave him be, with nothing but that _fucking sound_ to keep him fully fed.

Shiro’s eyes right now are where dark things grow. Where big, pretty men crowd you up against walls and do what they want to you. Push up against you heavy and thick.

Shiro pulls his two fingers from Lance’s ass and pushes them into Keith’s mouth. Keith’s eyes flutter closed and he feels Shiro press down on his tongue and push up against the bottom of his jaw with his thumb, jerk his head around a little bit in reprimand.

“Uh-uh, keep those eyes on me sweetheart,” he tells Keith.

Keith listens, getting harder by the millisecond as he watches Shiro lick his lips. Shiro drags his fingers along his tongue, maps out his teeth.

“What’re you doin’ to him ‘Kashi? I wannasee...”

Shiro huffs a laugh, lands an indulgent kiss to Lance’s temple.

“Okay baby.”

Shiro lets go of Keith’s mouth to help Lance shift around in his lap. Keith scoots back a bit as Lance adjusts, sits back on his heels to watch that gorgeous body shift and wriggle and _fucking hell_ ... when Lance is sitting in Shiro’s lap again, back against his chest this time (legs spread wide in a filthy exhibition of his flexibility Keith is _definitely_ gonna have some evil kinky fun with later, if Lance will have him), Keith can see how Lance’s hard dick stretches against the fabric. 

The tight fabric keeps his dick flush against his taut stomach, and Keith watches as beads of pre-cum coalesce at his tip to drip past the flared head, slip down the shaft to seep into the material of the thong. The purple is so much darker with it. Keith wants that dick in his mouth so bad.

And oooh when Keith looks up at that pretty face... Lance’s temples are slick with sweat, his face looks like it’s _glowing_ and all Keith wants to do is kiss those pretty, plump lips. Fuck they’re so red right now. Keith wonders if it’s because he’s been chewing on them or if it’s because Shiro’s fucked that mouth already.

Lance catches him looking and gives him a cocky little smile, trails French-tipped fingernails from his sternum down the line of his stomach, to tug at the dangling silver piercing at his belly button. He lets his fingers dance along his shaft until Shiro reaches around and pins his wrists together with one hand, keeps him from touching himself anymore. His hips thrust into nothing.

 _“Fucking sadist_ ,” he hisses at Shiro.

“Wait till you see how mean I’m _actually_ gonna be to you tonight,” Shiro promises in a low murmur. He tugs at Lance’s earlobe with his teeth and the boy jerks in his arms. Shiro laughs, looks down at Keith.

“C’mere sweetheart,” he says, “let me show Lance what I was doing to you.”

Keith shuffles forward, crawls just a little and feels his face heat up even more when that earns him a sultry little, “mmmm _just_ like that,” from Lance.

He’s on his knees in front of Shiro again, framed by Lance’s spread thighs. Shiro brings those fingers to his lips and he doesn’t even hesitate before he opens up for him. Shiro plays with his tongue a little, moves the pads of his fingers across it and pulls at it gently, and the way they’re looking down at him makes Keith feel like he’s going to go up like a pack of matches in a Bic lighter factory. He licks as much of those fingers as he can and Shiro looks pleased. He loves that look.

Shiro makes it to the back of his throat this time, pauses just a little bit before Keith moans in encouragement, lets him know he can more than handle it.

“ _Fuck_ baby...”

Keith feels those thick fingers pushing into his throat, forces himself to relax and breath out through his nose when he feels what’s left of his gag reflex acting up.

“Weak gag reflex?” Lance comments, amused. “Damn sugar... I don’t have one at all anymore. Shiro took care of _that_...”

Keith groans as Shiro starts to thrust, gentle at first but already picking up intensity.

Shiro hums in approval. “Tight little throat... we got it right with you, didn’t we sweetheart?”

Keith nods as he struggles to keep his eyes open. Shiro keeps thrusting as he talks, like he fucks Keith’s mouth with his fingers on the daily,

“Take your dick out for us baby.”

Shiro pulls away to let him do just that. Keith pulls his zipper down so fast there should be steam coming out of his fingers. He even forgets to undo the button on his jeans first, fumbles a bit with the whole thing. Lance laughs again and Shiro joins him. Keith rolls his eyes, tries to fight 

back his smile.

Shiro gets his hands under Lance’s thighs and pulls them to his chest, makes Lance hold onto them so he’s perfectly spread with his legs dangling in the air, purple thong askew. Shiro pulls it further to the side and Keith can see Lance’s soft, slick hole. Keith takes himself in hand, hesitant to do much more than hold the base of his dick tight because Shiro’s sliding his fingers back to Lance’s opening and that’s _definitely_ some shit Keith would come immediately to, if he’s not careful.

Keith squeezes his dick a little tighter as he watches Shiro ease three fingers into Lance’s entrance, just inches them in without stopping. Lance whimpers as his eyes fall closed. His pouty cherry lips pop open in an overwhelmed little o and his brows come together in an adorable little frown. His slender fingers dig into the underside of his own thighs as he struggles to hold his legs open for Shiro. Keith’s never seen anyone look quite so fuckable.

“Thaaaat’s it angel,” Shiro’s telling Lance as he starts to fuck him with those digits, in and out, long fingers glistening with lube in the low lamplight every time he pulls himself free from that clenching hole. 

He starts to kiss on Lance’s neck right under the edge of his jaw, filthy ones that set Lance to trembling like a power line in a storm. He pauses to grind all three of his fingers against Lance’s spot, and Keith licks his lips at the way Lance reflexively stretches one of his smooth legs directly into the air above him, straight as a slide rule, on a slutty plaintive keen.

Shiro chuckles against his neck real breathy, so goddamn sure of himself. Shiro looks straight at him again. Keith thinks of tiger eyes goring through a moving darkness. He starts moving in Lance again, real slow, and Lance’s head is falling back against Shiro’s shoulder as Shiro tells Keith,

“I’m gonna tell you what’s gonna happen here, beautiful. Are you listening? You’re gonna fuck Lance with that gorgeous dick of yours, get to feel that perfect little hole work around you. I’m gonna take his mouth again. You’re gonna help me make a mess of him okay? And then baby—are you still listening?—you’re gonna climb on top of me and let me bounce you on my dick while Lance watches. He’s been begging for it forever. Okay, beautiful?” Keith nods. “Come here then.”

As soon as he moves closer again Lance wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him messily, digs into Keith’s mouth with his sweet tongue and strokes whatever he can reach. Keith hears sees-feels their lips smack apart when Lance pulls away a bit, rests his forehead against Keith’s. (Goddamn does he have to be a great kisser too??) 

Keith’s never been much for eye contact with anyone (always makes him feel like he’s staked to the ground and he’ll have to rip something if he ever wants to move again), but now he can’t help it. This close Keith can tell that there are tiny patches of hazel in the irises he’d always assumed were totally blue.

Lance laughs a little, and Keith feels his heart beat hard, once, behind his matchstick ribs, then speed up unbelievably like it’s got somewhere to be. When his eyes flick to Shiro, the man is looking at him with a warm smile on his face, like he’s giving Dommy Shiro a rest for just a little while for Keith’s benefit. 

Fuck, Keith is so gay.

He feels Lance scratching gently at the nape of his neck with those perfect nails. They’re just this side of sharp, they catch on his skin so slightly Keith would completely miss it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of Lance’s burning-hot, mostly naked body against his own.

Lance laughs again. “Staring into our eyes when I’m wet and stretched open for you? What a gentleman.”

Keith leans in to kiss Lance. Knows he’ll never get tired of it. He tugs Lance’s bottom lip between his teeth, just a little bit, loves the little whine it brings out of him. Keith slips a hand into Lance’s hair, pulls his head back to expose his throat.

“Nice and stretched open for me hmm?” Keith rumbles into the skin at the underside of Lance’s jaw. Starts to trail kisses down the length of his neck. “You want this dick princess?”

He mouths _lube_ at Shiro over the curve of Lance’s shoulder. The big man shifts for a few seconds before Keith feels a bottle being pushed into his hand. Hands him a condom too. Keith stifles a laugh. Must’ve been pretty close by.

Keith backs away to get himself ready but Lance grabs his wrist, bottom lip between his teeth. He looks at Keith from underneath the canopy of his thick lashes, cute and earnest and so fucking sexy.

“Can I?”

Of fucking course he can. Keith rolls on the condom himself (can’t risk Lance’s prolonged contact with his dick, doesn’t want this to be over before it even starts), but he squirts some of the lube into Lance’s hand. He feels his eyes slip closed as Lance wraps his fingers around his shaft before he realizes that yeah no, he _definitely_ wants to see Lance’s flawlessly manicured hand curled around the length of him. Lance pulls gently along his shaft as he slicks him up, slow, light, like he knows Keith’s waaay too close to coming for somebody who plans on _fucking_ and _getting fucked_ as much as he does tonight.

Lance only strokes him twice, and his grip’s mercifully loose, but on the second pass the little shit brings his thumb to Keith’s tip, massages the sensitive head with a firm, confident thumb.

“You little shit,” Keith mutters as he captures Lance’s hand.

Lance yelps as Keith grabs the backs of his thighs roughly. He can’t help but land a kiss on one of Lance’s knees. It draws a deep chuckle from Shiro.

“How do you want him?” Shiro wants to know. 

Oh _every_ possible fucking way. But for now... Keith wraps Lance’s legs around his waist, gets Lance to wrap his arms around Keith’s neck again, and rises to his feet with the gorgeous thing strapped to the front of his body like a goddamn sash. He stands up and Lance moans out a quiet _,_ startled _fuck_ at the sudden movement. Lance is a solid weight in his arms, heavier than he’d been expecting, but nothing he can’t handle.

Lance breathes hot against his neck as Keith walks the short distance to the longer edge of his bed.

“You could probably bench press me couldn’t you sugar?”

Keith rolls his eyes as he sets Lance down on his sheets. Keith pauses to take off his shirt, pants and underwear, flushes a little bit at Lance’s blatant, hungry stare and Shiro’s low hum. 

“You like bein’ thrown around, doll?” Keith teases as he gets back into the bed and spreads Lance’s legs for himself. 

“ _Mmhmm_ … _”_

Parts those thighs, pushes them against Lance’s chest and _fuck_ there’s that sweet hole again, dripping with lube, stretched and soft. Ready for him. His dick’s leaking onto his toned stomach, clear droplets land right next to his belly ring.

Keith doesn’t give Lance a chance to respond, takes his own dick in hand and lines his tip up with Lance’s hole. He starts to press in and he cannot. fucking. believe the give. It feels like his dick is just _sinking into_ that tight wet heat. But at the same time it’s like Lance’s little hole is gripping his shaft in a firm handshake and pulling him in. 

Right now, caught up in the searing-hot clutch of Lance’s unbelievable ass, he can’t remember _ever_ being this deep inside anyone. And if it feels like _this with a condom on?_ Oh fuck. What would it feel like if he pushed into him bare? Lance takes it like its second nature to him. He’s completely in his element. He lets out a low, satisfied moan as Keith bottoms out, looks up at him with a sharp, dazed grin, all pearly white teeth.

“Ohmy _fuck,_ been th-thinking about this so much...”

 _“Fuuck_ ,” Keith groans, cages himself over Lance’s body, gets Lance’s legs over his shoulders and Lance just... folds like a palm tree in a hurricane. Easy as anything. He groans into Lance’s neck but he means it for Shiro when he says,

“D-does it always feel like this inside ‘im?”

Hears Shiro laugh, feels the bed shift as Shiro joins them. There’s a hand in his hair now, stroking it. Then it grips some strands at the crown of his head, turns him to face Shiro and he’s... _fuck_ he’s already so hard inside Lance, can feel Lance’s dick against his own stomach, can _feeeel_ his deep breaths, his hands on his back.... so when Shiro looks at him with that gleaming white hair and that angular fucking face and those big gray eyes, Keith feels himself get even harder. Knows Lance feels it too because he whines slutty (“ _Keeeith_ ”) right in Keith’s ear. And Shiro says, hisses, really,

“ _Yes_ ,”

Into the air between them. He takes Keith’s lips in a kiss of his own. It’s on the gentler side, not as feral as Lance’s from before but just as dirty. Keith shivers as Shiro licks into his mouth at the same time that Lance shimmies a little on Keith’s dick, as much as his current position will allow him. Keith’s face gets hotter.

“He likes it rough,” Shiro tells him between slow kisses, “ _deep_ ,” tangles his wet tongue with Keith’s, “dirty,” licks at the roof of his mouth, “wants to feel like a good, pretty little slut. Can you do that for him baby? Fuck this sweet little whore like he deserves?”

Keith nods as much as he can with Shiro’s grip still firm in his hair. Shiro smirks at him.

“ _Good_.”

So after Keith’s taken a few seconds to get his bearings, _knows_ he’s not in urgent danger of coming, feels his Code Red falling to a much calmer Big Bird Yellow, he shifts up onto his knees.

Grabs the back of Lance’s knees, keeps them at his chest and holds his legs open. Lance makes grabby hands at him, pouts a little bit.

“Nooo, I wanna feel you.”

Keith pulls out slow and slams back in hard, confident that Lance can take it. And for good reason—Lance’s eyes screw shut and his mouth falls open in a precious moan.

“ _Needy_ little thing aren’t you?” Keith teases, keeps himself buried inside Lance for a self-indulgent grind that sets the pretty thing to mewling.

“Y- _yes_...”

Keith pulls out again slow, just like before, slams back in again rough. Stays still, just like that. Now that Keith’s grabbed Super Horny Keith by the scruff of the neck and pulled him from the brink of cumming, he can stand to be a little mean. And he has a feeling that being a little mean to Lance in bed, like it is in everything else, is fun as hell. Keith smirks a little, watches Lance gulp. Ever theatrical, this one.

Keith chuckles. “What do you need, baby?”

Lance licks his lips, stretches his arms above his head to grip the sheets. Now Keith can see the whole length of that long, smooth bronze body.

“Y-your dick...”

Keith pulls out, watches Lance’s rim stretch around the lube-glistened length of him. Pushes back in, gives himself to the mind-numbing grasp of Lance’s entrance.

“ _This_ dick, yeah?”

Lance nods frantically. “ _Mm_ hm...”

That’s when he starts to fuck Lance proper. Keeps him pinned with his hands behind his knees so he can barely move at all, can barely fuck back. Keith has an inkling that Lance could probably ride him wild, ride him ragged, and Keith wants that as soon as he can have it. But for now? Now he wants to pound into Lance’s gorgeous, fat ass while he wears that mouth-watering violet thong, immobilize him against his own mattress. So he does just that.

He speeds up his thrusts till he can hear the lube squelching, till he can hear his thighs slapping against Lance’s thick cheeks, feel his balls hitting the skin of his ass. And Lance is a fucking _dream_ to watch. That pretty face scrunching up so deliciously, bangs stuck to his forehead. Smooth, delectable bottom lip caught between his teeth. Startling blue eyes alternating between half-lidded and fully closed. 

And he’s _so_ goddamn vocal. Not just with his loud mewls, his shameless whimpers, the high unabashed moans that would probably make it sound like Keith’s shooting porn to anyone who could hear them ( _fuck_ he really hopes his neighbors are out tonight). But with his words too. Keith is beside himself.

“ _Fuh-huck, yeeeeessss yesyesyes_...” 

“ _Harder sugar, harder, harder baby...”_

Even when Keith starts fucking Lance proper he tries to avoid his prostate as much as he can, tries to just glance off of it with most of his thrusts. But when he starts actively _aiming_ for it? Oh baby. If Lance’s nails were any sharper Keith would need a new comforter.

And Keith’s always _always_ conscious of the fact that Shiro’s there. Gorgeous, chiseled Shiro. Watching him pound lean, pretty Lance into the mattress. 

Keith hopes Shiro can see it well. See how Lance’s tight, hungry ass just eats up Keith’s thick length. How sweat’s trickling down Keith’s face as he presses Lance down into the sheets and makes him take it.

Keith’s never felt particularly inclined to speak too much while he’s in bed with his partners, nothing past the typical _yeahs_ and _fucks_ . Even when he fucked in relationships, saying too much while in the middle of everything always made him feel awkward and corny. He’d literally laughed in his ex’s face, the man’s dick still inside him, when they were going at it missionary and Lotor actually said “I’m gonna make you cum so hard it hits your forehead.” That’s probably not the _only_ thing that ended their relationship but Keith thinks it probably shaved a few months off that bitch.

But Lance’s brand of talkativeness just makes this whole thing hotter. So, _so_ much hotter to know exactly _how_ you’re fucking someone senseless when that someone knows precisely how to convey it to you in the filthiest, nastiest, dirtiest way. 

And it makes Keith wanna meet Lance where he’s at. 

“S-Shiro was… rightbaby, _fuck_ ,” he grits out between hard thrusts, “you’ve got the _tightest_ fucking ass…”

Keith watches Lance clench his eyes closed and let out a whorish keen as Keith slows down to long-dick his clamping hole, as Keith does his level best to _roll_ his dick into Lance’s prostate.

“S-so _gooodohfuckingputamadre…”_

Keith speeds up again, watches Lance’s belly ring jangle with every rough thrust. _Fuck_ what a pretty sight. 

“T-this how hard you… youwanted it, hm?”

Lance nods frantically, eyes still closed, mouth wide open. He’s a masterpiece. 

“You a little slut, pretty baby? That, _mmm_ , that why you take it so _fucking_ good?”

“ _Yeeess,”_ Lance moans.

Keith slows down again and Lance’s hands fly to his forearms, gets a tight grip on them without letting Keith feel too much of his nails. Maybe Keith’s a masochist because he finds himself wanting to actually feel them a whole lot. 

Keith pulls out until the only thing Lance can clench around is his tip.

“Let me hear you say it baby,” and holy _fuck_ Keith’s voice feels so deep inside his chest. Dark, soso dark. “Let me see those gorgeous fucking eyes, and let me hear you say it.”

Lance is panting, smooth chest heaving with his breaths. Keith can’t wait to get his mouth on those dusky brown nipples. 

And Keith is _obsessed_ with the off-center thong Lance is _still_ wearing. Licks his lips at how it can barely contain Lance’s tasty hard dick, how the length curves past the fabric. Keith rubs the sensitive, weeping tip, like Lance had done to him before, and Lance _jolts_ under him, whines high. Keith grins. 

Then he pulls the thong further to the side, breathing out an appreciative _fuck_ at how the string of the underwear catches on and digs into one of Lance’s plump, perfect cheeks. How it bites into the fattiness. There’s no way it’s gonna be comfortable for long but for _now_ ? Holy shit. And the sight of Lance’s pretty hole, stretched around Keith’s shaft while he’s still wearing those tiny panties? Holy _shit_. Keith can’t help but smack up one of Lance’s cheeks again, just on its side because he has Lance on his back and can’t get to it properly. But it ripples anyway and Keith loves it.

“ _Let me hear you say it, pretty baby.”_

Lance blinks his eyes open, bleary and wet with overwhelmed tears. There’s a flush high on his cheeks that Keith is starting to be able to see. Keith wonders how much darker it’s gonna get before he and Shiro are done with him. 

“I-I’m a little slut…”

Keith slides in until his length’s about halfway encased. He knows he’s closer to cumming than he is far away, but it’s like he can’t help himself. Lance is too good like this. 

“What are you?” He stares down at Lance, bolder than he’s ever been with eye contact during moments like these. Lance goes to tilt his head back and Keith takes him by the hair, forces him to face him. 

“ _A s-slut..._ ”

Keith slams in again, reclaims his fast, hard pace from before. 

“That’s right baby,” he coos as he stares down at Lance’s beautiful face, contorted in pleasure. He keeps his grip in the pretty boy’s hair, gives him nowhere else to look but up at him as he bullies his dick into Lance’s hole over and over again. Lance’s eyes almost close completely, fall to coin slot slits. “A pretty, _pretty_ little slut…” 

When Shiro enters Keith’s line of vision (now standing next to the bed on his and Lance’s right), Keith has to hold himself steady inside Lance (to Lance’s _very_ expressive dismay) to keep himself from cumming imm _eee_ jetly because… w-well because…

Shiro’s pushed down the black joggers he’s wearing, along with his white briefs, to pull out his dick. And his dick is… proportional. So _very_ fucking proportional. It’s long and thick and heavy and Keith’s instantly thinking about it disappearing between Lance’s fat cheeks. Then he’s thinking about taking it inside _himself_ and he has to clench his eyes closed and concentrate like Professor X to not cum because bearing hands-on (or dick-on, he guesses) witness to Lance’s clenching heat, while entertaining those thoughts, has him closer to the edge than Thirty Seconds to Mars. 

When he gets his eyes open again, Shiro has a big, veined hand around his length, strokes it slowly and drags a slippery mixture of what Keith is _sure_ is partially lube and partially pre-cum along the mouth-watering, impressive length. 

When Keith makes it out of his stupefaction he realizes that he and Lance’s current angle probably won’t be very comfortable (for Lance in particular) if Shiro’s gonna take his mouth while Keith is inside him. 

So Keith pulls out completely to shift them around (bites one of Lance’s nipples to chide him when he whines about it, though Keith isn’t sure how effective of a reprimand it is; he’s pretty sure he sees Lance’s dick jump like an 80s metal band frontman on stage). 

He scoots them to the edge of the bed, rearranges then (to the soundtrack of Lance’s horny, satisfied little purrs at the manhandling; fuck, the boy is incorrigible) till they’re both on their sides and his chest is pressed up against Lance’s back. He slips his arm under Lance’s body, between his hot skin and the bed, to wrap around his chest.

Keith then takes Lance’s leg and pushes it up against his chest, makes him hold it as Keith grabs his own dick and slips it back in. When he’s fully seated again Keith takes that leg again and holds it himself. Spreads Lance open and wide with a hand behind his knee as he gives him a swift thrust that has his balls slapping into the crease of the pretty boy’s ass. Sets Lance to moaning sweet again. 

“ _God_ you guys look so good like this,” Shiro tells them, all breathy and thunderstorm rumbly and _fuck_ , Keith feels one of his thrusts falter. 

He watches Shiro take a hold of Lance’s hair, watches him bring that big dick to Lance’s mouth. Can’t really see Lance’s face like this but _hears_ it when Shiro slaps his cheek with the length. 

“Let me inside that mouth, angel,” Shiro’s muttering as he slips in, a look of rapt concentration on his face. Keith watches him bite his pink bottom lip.“ _Fuck..._ ”

Keith hears Lance’s satisfied little “ _mmm_ ” and the next time Shiro has his dick in Lance’s mouth Keith wants a front row seat because he _needs_ to see what kind of face Lance is making with _that_ sound. _That_ sound promises things.

Keith’s stuck on Shiro’s face for a while. It’s just such a departure from the sweet, teddy bear that Shiro is in literally any other context, and Keith’s hooked on that. This man who’s obsessed with cool fridges, terrified of roller coasters, and has, on more than one occasion, bridal-style carried his boyfriend to bed after Lance’s particularly intense days of practical training at the salon, is also the man who has a hand tight in Lance’s hair right now, much tighter than Keith had held the strands. He’s the same man who’s starting to rock into Lance’s mouth with the most pleasured, devious, seductive look on his face, white hair falling into his eyes. He’s the one who says, in a rough voice that’s gonna follow Keith straight into his dreams in a goddamn soldiers march,

“I’m gonna fuck your throat now, okay angel?”

“Mm _hmm_ ,” Lance moans enthusiastically for it. 

Keith watches some of the curlier pieces of Lance’s mahogany hair tremble as he nods so eagerly for it, _feels_ that tight channel he’s so lucky to still be inside of get even _tighter_ around him. He hisses, and his grip on Lance’s leg tightens. 

Keith’s hips move, almost involuntarily, in short little thrusts as he watches Shiro hold Lance’s head steady to fuck his length into him. The first time Shiro eases his whole length into Lance’s throat, makes it so that Lance’s forehead presses up against the bottom of the absurdly defined V of his hips, Keith’s dick, defying all logic, gets even harder than it already was. Shiro’s eyes close. 

“ _Fuuck_ Lance,” he groans. Lance whines high. 

And then he’s off. 

“You’re so good at this, aren’t you baby?” Shiro murmurs as he starts to fuck Lance’s throat in earnest. “Wanna show off, yeah? Wanna show Keith what you can— _ohshitjustlikethatbaby_ … w-what you can do with that throat while he uses your ass?”

“ _Mmhmm…”_

Keith feels his eyes start to water at the look on Shiro’s face, but also… those fucking _sounds_ . Those filthy, wet sounds of Lance taking Shiro’s big dick into his wet throat, the choking sounds followed so closely by Lance’s encouraging moans. His pants when Shiro pulls back to let him breathe. In and out and in and out and _fuck_ , Keith feels Shiro jostling Lance’s body with his thrusts. He’s so rough with it, knows just what Lance can take. Lance is amazing, a fucking gift. Keith cannot _believe_ his luck with these two. 

The next time Shiro gives Lance a short reprieve to get a breath, Lance turns his face to the side towards Keith. Keith can only really see him in profile but _fuck_ that flush from before is riding higher and redder than ever, there’s a track of tears streaming from the eye closest to Keith. His lips are so wet and thick. He says, rasps more like,

“Wh-... whatreyou… waiting for, sugar? D’you n-need a runway and a air traffic controller baby? _Fuck me, Keith_ . H-hard, _likebeforeyeah_?”

Even with his dick inside him, Lance still manages to make Keith roll his eyes. 

Shiro immediately brings Lance’s mouth back to his dick and Keith is… well Keith is gone. Senses punted to Venus like a fucking field goal, the rest of him’s left behind stripped down to its barest bones: horniness, that _unbelievable_ need for satiation. It takes him a little bit of time to catch Shiro’s rhythm, a few out of sync thrusts, 

But when he does? 

Between the two of them, they turn Lance into a pretty little fuck doll. They take him hard, rough, and Lance just moans the whole way through, Keith’s dick slapping into his ass while Shiro chokes him on his length. 

Keith tightens the arm he has around his chest and gets a better grip on Lance’s leg, remembers how Shiro had fingered Lance so _good_ Lance had unwound it into the air above him like it was accidental. So he taps on Lance’s calf, encourages him to stretch it out till it’s parallel with the length of Lance’s torso, till they’ve got the boy in a _very_ modified version of those standing splits he loves so much. He’s so goddamn _bendy_.

And Keith gets _so fucking deep like this, holy shit_. He makes Lance take him all the way with every thrust, makes sure he can feel that fat ass against his pelvis everytime he bottoms out. He’s deep in Lance and he’s staring into Shiro’s eyes now—the gray’s watering and his gorgeous face is so damn red. It’s a bit harder to hit Lance’s prostate dead-on like this,

But when he _does_? 

The boy screams around Shiro’s dick and Shiro moans low and loud, says to Lance while his eyes flick back and forth between Lance and Keith, _just like that angel, take that dick for me, you take it so good, you take it sofuckin’good, can’t wait to come in that pretty mouth_ and Keith feels himself getting closer, closer, _closerclosercloser—_

Keith feels Lance’s hole clench incredibly (feels the stretched leg he still has a grip on go rigid) and somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that Lance just came untouched because he and Shiro were sadistic _assholes_ who’d barely touched the boy’s dick. But also _holy shit_ if that’s not the hottest fucking thing?? Like Keith didn’t even think that was a thing that actually happened to people, thought it was just niche, fantastical fetish porn people (ahem, people maybe/kind of meaning Keith himself) indulged in. 

Also Lance is completely soundless in his orgasm?? And isn’t _that_ the sweetest goddamn irony. Keith simply _has_ to see his face the next time he comes. 

The rest of his brain’s real estate gets earmarked for processing the otherworldly fucking orgasm that knees him in the solar plexus. It makes his abdomen clench, makes his legs go so tight and taut that there’s still a piece of him, ridiculous as it is, that’s thinking _holy shit am I about to get a leg cramp right now?_ Keith empties into the condom and it’s the type of orgasm that makes him want to learn how to play the piano and then write a song about it, makes him want to change lives. This is the kind of orgasm that makes him hopeful for the future, makes him want to keep up a 750 credit score. 

Keith grinds out the last of his orgasm inside Lance, and when he’s past it, when those aftershocks are still crackling across his arms and chest and legs and his dick is softening inside Lance, he brings Lance’s leg, still in his grasp, to his lips. Kisses him right above his knee as he watches Shiro finish, beautiful and powerful, with his thick dark brows drawn together. 

“ _Such a good boy_ ,” Shiro’s telling Lance as he thrusts deep into his mouth once, twice, then holds. His eyes flutter closed as he starts to cum, groaning as Lance takes it. Shiro pulls out of his mouth before he’s completely through, tilts Lance’s head back. 

“Lemme see that face baby,” he growls as he strokes himself off, “lemme see that _pretty fucking face_ …”

Lance whines at that.

Shiro finishes as Lance lets out a satisfied, throaty hum. Keith wonders how much of it lands in Lance’s mouth. 

Then Lance is shifting in Keith’s arms, and Keith lets him go so Lance can pull himself free. Can’t really help the quiet little moan that leaves him as his dick slips out of that hole, which has rapidly become one of its favorite places to be. 

Then Lance is pushing him onto his back and laughing a bit—probably at Keith’s miserable moan—climbing on top of him to straddle his hips (right above his spent dick) so Keith can finally see that face and Lance is… unreal. 

Face covered in cum, it’s drooling along one of his cheeks, some of it landed right next to the beauty mark on his chin. Eyelashes so fucking damp, blue eyes wet and shiny and bright as a summer day. He looks like he came straight out of some Keith’s dirtiest dreams, but all the sweet fantasies that come after them too. 

Then Shiro enters his line of vision again, so big and strong and lovely. Runs a hand through Lance’s hair as they both look down at Keith like they’re far from done with him. And isn’t _that_ a thought. 

“Show him, baby,” Shiro murmurs with a kiss to Lance’s temple, an encouraging hand on his back. 

Lance opens his mouth wide, and it’s at that moment that Keith _knows_ , knows like he knows the color of his own hair, that Shiro’s oral fixation is going to be the death of them all. 

There’s cum on Lance’s pink tongue, curling white and thick and filthy. 

Shiro hums in approval. Smirks down at Keith. 

“Our baby did such a good job, right Keith? Can you show him how good of a job he did?”

And if Keith could get hard again this soon, that look and the question paired with it would’ve sent him straight down that path. He sits up, shifts Lance around a bit so he’s properly in his lap now. Keith loves feeling the weight of Lance’s fleshy, round ass against his thighs. The dizzy thought of _I just fucked that_ circles around his head like those little blue birds cartoon characters see when they’ve been hit too hard in the head by something. He’s woozy with it, giddy with it. If Keith ever gets to fuck him again he wants that face in the sheets and that ass up high, so he can see exactly how it bounces.

There are pins and needles dancing up and down his left arm, the one that he’d put under Lance’s body, but he wraps it around Lance’s slim waist anyway. Drinks in his low-lidded gaze before he grips his chin with a deceptively gentle hand and plunges into his mouth with his tongue. They each take a little bit of that heavy, salty cum for themselves, lips smacking as they suck down each other’s moans. 

When they pull away Lance frames Keith’s face with his hands, a sated smile on his face.

“ _Please_ tell me you get it now.”

Shiro sits down next to them, runs fingers through Keith’s hair.

“We want you, Keith,” Shiro tells him, refuses to skimp on the eye contact. “We _both_ do.”

Keith swallows, has to look away because there’s no way he can speak with the both of them watching him like that. 

“Really? I don’t want to be… I mean you guys are already together. _So_ together.”

“Me, Shiro… this isn’t a vacuum-sealed relationship Keith! We don’t just want you in our bed,” Lance takes hold of Keith’s chin, turns him to face them, “we want you _with_ us.”

Keith feels hours days, weeks months, _years_ of pining and watching threatening to choke him out. That old familiar fear—that he’s always gonna be nothing but an extra, that the only way to feel like a whole person is be alone on purpose—is lapping at him like some hot, boiling ocean. He swallows through the heat when he says,

“Yes.”

Shiro’s cock is so much to take but somehow, some _way_ , Keith manages. After they’ve cleaned up from that first round, laying in bed with Shiro’s arm thrown over Keith’s stomach and Lance tucked into his side, after they’ve talked at length about what this means for them—something like this… Shiro pulls Keith to straddle him. Kisses him sweet while he opens him up, holds most of Keith’s weight as Keith sits back onto that _thick_ length. And when Keith gets used to it? Draws his knees up to Keith’s back, braces his feet against the bed, and bounces Keith on his big cock while Lance strokes himself off to it right next to them. Just like they promised.

Lance’s next big picture is of him straddling Keith’s motorcycle, facing away from the handlebars, dressed in nothing but a black thong, platform heels, and a bright red band tee shirt he ties in a knot above his belly-button. Shiro’s in it too, arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist, nuzzling into his neck while Lance reaches back to run fingers through Shiro’s hair, caught mid-laugh on camera.

Keith knows because he asked them to take it. Posed them, listened to the shutter _click_ of the camera aroused and awed.

He’s gonna keep this one just for himself.


End file.
